The Feint
by atetheredmind
Summary: Peeta Mellark won his games single-handedly at the age of 15. Six years later, he must act as mentor to Katniss Everdeen in the 74th Hunger Games, where they learn there is more than one type of game at play.
1. Part I

_**a/n:** This story was inspired by a prompt sent to me on tumblr by user otterfluff. I thought the premise was too good for just a drabble, so I have written a two-parter. It's darker than "A Thin Line" and "An Education of Peeta Mellark," (plenty of smut still), just a fair warning, but I hope you'll read and enjoy regardless._

* * *

Peeta Mellark was only 15 when he won the 68th Hunger Games. It was a fluke, mostly. Everyone had figured he was too soft to win—what chance did a baker's son from the poorest district stand against a brutal Career pack?

But Peeta wasn't soft; even at a young age, he had understood that there was something different about him, something that made the people around him extremely uncomfortable and drew the ire and the back of his mother's hand more frequently than his brothers did. So, for the sake of self-preservation, he learned very quickly how to hide this _something _behind false smiles and forced niceties. People liked this Peeta much better, and it was the Peeta he took to the Capitol. He wasn't nearly as tender-hearted and doe-eyed as his interview with Caesar Flickerman had led the audience to believe.

Still, not even Peeta had any illusions about winning the games. He'd allied with the Careers because it had been his only hope of getting any food—and he hadn't wanted to spend his last days alive starving to death. He'd brought in a decent amount of sponsors, based solely on his good looks and charm, so the Careers were mainly apathetic to his presence; they'd figure they could easily take him when the time came, despite his impressively large physique.

They hadn't known he would be such a whiz with a knife.

Growing up, Peeta'd had a lot of practice with slaughtering pigs. His family raised a couple at a time behind the bakery, and once a year, after the sow'd had her litter and the piglets had been weaned, he and his brothers were in charge of killing her in order to fill their plates with pork and barter it around town for other necessary supplies. But his brothers hated the process, and only Peeta didn't seem to mind the gruesome task so much, so, eventually, it fell to him alone. His years of wrestling made the practice a little easier to handle on his own.

On a pig, Peeta knew how to efficiently locate and puncture the carotid artery and jugular vein to drain the blood from the body. On a human, he learned it wasn't much different.

So, after the District 4 male tribute had quickly bled out in front of the cornucopia, Peeta had been crowned victor. In the Capitol, he had been lauded as a hero; in District 12, he'd been shunned as a monster. Even his own family couldn't stand to be around him, though they had no problem taking his money. His mentor Haymitch Abernathy had been little solace in the time after his victory, promptly retreating into his house in Victor's Village, rarely to emerge unless it was to feed his alcohol addiction.

Peeta was alone. There were times when he could still feel the warm, sticky blood of his fellow tributes on his fingers, the fluttering pulses under his palm. When he was lost in a haze of memories and terrors, he held onto that feeling, and it brought him back to himself.

But the loneliness was crushing. There were girls, of course, girls who sought him out around town, some he knew from school, some he didn't. It didn't matter; suddenly, they all wanted to know him. And though they opened beneath him willingly, though he found momentary respite while buried inside them, they would never really know him; they _couldn't_.

And that was fine with him.

The novelty of being a victor eventually wore off right around the time of the next games, when he watched his two tributes die. He now understood why Haymitch sought solace in alcohol. It was like losing himself in a woman—but without the annoying societal expectations of politeness and regard for other's feelings.

But the more he drank—the more unbearable he got—the less those girls liked him. Eventually, they stopped coming around. He was glad for that. But he still needed the release they provided, the physical gratification alcohol couldn't provide him. He was only 16, after all.

He passed the line of desperate Seam girls at Peacekeeper Cray's front door many times before he finally took one home with him. She had cried in relief, like he was doing her a favor.

Later that night, she'd left his house, crying for completely different reasons.

But he kept returning to those girls, and he knew by the cautious glances they gave each other that they knew about him; some probably would have prefered Cray. They never refused him, however; they needed the money. It was nice, he decided. At least these girls didn't bother with the pretense of liking him when all they wanted were his riches.

They did whatever he wanted—they had no choice but to. With them, he was in control. He could work out his anger and his pain on them. Sometimes they would cry silently, choking back sobs, but they never objected. Afterwards, every once in a while, the shame was so suffocating, he would cry and beg for their forgiveness. Most times, though...he marveled at how hard their hearts thrummed in their throats under his hands—how, if he just squeezed a little tighter, their pulses would flutter weakly, just like the District 4 tribute's had as he'd died...

Peeta had never come so hard before.

* * *

It was a cold night in March when Peeta first saw her. A light drizzle fell relentlessly, just hard enough to be irritating but not enough to force him to pick up his pace. He ambled away from the Hob, the buzz from the alcohol he'd consumed making him mostly impervious to the chill; he headed for Cray's, eager to release the pent-up energy he could feel creeping through his bones, threatening to force him out of his skin. Despite the rain, the line of girls was long—longer even than it normally was: At the end was a young girl he didn't recognize.

A _really _young girl.

That pulled him up short, and he stared at her, wiping the precipitation from his eyes and ignoring the plaintive, whispered pleas from the others. When she felt his gaze on her, she stiffened, her gray eyes going wide.

She couldn't have been any older than 11. She was thin, painfully thin. Her face was sunken and pinched, the circles under her eyes dark against her olive skin, the rain trickling through the cracks in her lips. Her arms were so thin, he was sure he could wrap his hand around one twice. His feet carried him to her before he even realized what he was doing, and she seemed to shrink into herself, her tiny, trembling hands tugging nervously on her wet braids and her ratty sleeves.

There was a kind of terror in her eyes he hadn't seen since the arena.

His face hardened, and he dug through his pocket until his fist closed around some coins; he yanked them out, flinging them at her feet. She jerked back as if she'd been slapped, and her wide eyes locked on his face, not comprehending. "Get out of here," he hissed at her, and she recoiled at the vehemence in his voice. "Take the money and get out of here. I don't ever want to see you here again. Do you understand me?"

She didn't move, rooted to her spot, and he snapped. "Are you fucking stupid? I said leave!" he barked angrily, and she finally startled, weakly bending down to scrape the coins off the ground. Her whole body shook—from fear or the cold, he didn't know—and it took her a long, tense moment to gather the coins. Then she spun around and darted back to the Seam, weaving unsteadily on her feet.

Peeta watched her go. He didn't move until he felt a hand tugging at his sleeve. His head barely moved as he took in the girl at his side, who tried to smile suggestively at him. Her eyes were dead, though. He slapped her hand away. "Fuck off," he snarled and stalked away, ignoring the cries of despair and anger that followed him all the way to Victor's Village.

He tried to push the girl from his mind as he stroked his hard cock that night, still aching for release. How sick and defeated she had looked. He didn't understand why this girl, out of the dozens, affected him so much—they all looked desperate and lifeless.

But she was so young...

His dick grew flaccid in his hand, and he growled, knocking over the toiletries on his sink out of frustration. Then he shoved his cock back into his pants in defeat.

He would find no relief that night—so he drank.

* * *

Something changed after that point.

When he saw that girl again, several months later, she was trading game in the Hob with an older boy by her side. She met his hard, questioning gaze, and recognition and shame flashed through her eyes before she trained her face into a mask of indifference. She avoided eye contact or any acknowledgement of him the rest of her time there.

Good, he thought. He didn't want to remember that night, either.

But he was glad he never saw her at Cray's again.

* * *

The next time he saw her was at the reaping for the 74th games, where he finally learned her name.

Katniss Everdeen stood stiff and resolute on the stage, despite the cries of her little sister in the crowd. Peeta didn't even notice when the male tribute was chosen—he couldn't stop looking at Katniss as he watched her from his spot on stage, his eyes riveted to the slight curve of her hips, the swell of her ass. The blue dress she wore was loose on her frame, but it clung to her budding feminine features nonetheless.

She was older now; sixteen or seventeen, he guessed. When Effie Trinket turned her around to lead her into the Justice Building, Peeta's eyes settled on her breasts—the small mounds looked like they would fit nicely in his palms. His cock twitched in his pants then; he was too heady with lust to be disgusted by his thoughts given the current situation.

He knew he was capable of much worse, really.

Peeta was intrigued by her. The frail, terrorized child he found outside Cray's four years ago was gone, and in her place a determined, hardened girl, who seemed wiser than her years suggested. She didn't cry or shake like most of the other tributes had when their names had been called. She didn't look like prey.

He thought he recognized something in her that he remembered about himself six years ago: She was a survivor.

He smiled to himself then. District 12 might just have a winner this year.

* * *

Haymitch was blitzed—not unusual for the older man. Peeta, however, paced himself on the train, wanting to keep a clear head for the opening ceremonies so he could adequately observe Katniss. She did her best to ignore him, either directing her questions to Haymitch or eating in silence and letting her tribute partner, Levi, carry the conversation. Levi was the butcher's son—Merchants were rarely reaped, but it wasn't unheard of. Obviously.

Peeta just smirked to himself through the rest of dinner, sipping his brandy leisurely while he sized her up.

The new District 12 stylists were miracle workers. Before, Katniss hadn't been much of a looker, despite his body's instinctual response to the sight of her developing curves, but now—now she was radiant, transformed by Cinna's skillful hands. Levi shined equally, but Peeta paid him little mind as the stylists readied the tributes for the parade.

As Peeta approached the chariot, Katniss met his gaze head-on this time, as if in challenge. He was pleasantly surprised. He smiled at her; she didn't flinch or duck his gaze, instead lifting her head higher as she climbed into the chariot.

He and Haymitch watched the District 12 tributes ride out into the City Circle; alongside them stood the stylists and Effie, who was fluttering in excitement. Peeta watched Katniss the entire time, mesmerized by the flames and her steely confidence. Still smiling to himself, he glanced over at Cinna, who felt his gaze and looked over at him expectantly.

"You gave her the shot, correct?" he asked casually, keeping his voice low. All the female tributes received a shot to regulate their cycles for when they were in the arena; menstruating was messy business.

Cinna regarded him warily before finally responding, "Yes." Peeta smiled wider, turning his attention back to their tributes.

They crowded around the long dining table afterward, the whole District 12 team, as Avoxes brought them dish after dish. Peeta didn't contribute much to the conversation, letting Effie, Cinna and Portia lead it. His eyes rarely left Katniss as he sipped his wine and sopped up gravy with his roll. Her eyes would lock with his periodically before flitting away, embarrassed and annoyed at being caught. He didn't smile when they made eye contact; he could tell this rattled her.

"What?" she finally barked, startling everyone else at the table. Peeta licked beads of wine from his lips and shrugged nonchalantly.

"Just trying to figure out what your strategy should be for the games," he replied. That seemed to confuse her, but Effie cleared her throat daintily.

"Perhaps we should save strategy talk for tomorrow," she suggested, looking pointedly at Peeta with a polite smile that didn't quite reach her eyes. Peeta lifted a shoulder indifferently, silently agreeing to drop the conversation—but he had a feeling Katniss wouldn't; in fact, he was banking on it.

He was right.

"And what should my strategy be?" she demanded, ignoring their escort, who stifled a sigh with her napkin. Peeta squinted at her critically, giving her a thorough once-over.

"Well, you're not very pleasant. That much is obvious. Charming viewers into liking you probably won't work. And you're not much to look at, are you? Kind of plain-looking, really." Her face grew redder with each insult, and he had to fight back a smile. Effie flushed at the bluntness of his statements.

"Peeta, where are your manners? I thought Katniss looked very lovely at the tribute parade." And she beamed at the girl, who continued to scowl at him from across the table.

He sighed. "Sure, with Cinna's help, she can pull off moderately attractive. But a pretty face is only going to pull you so many sponsors," he mused, swirling his wine in his glass. Haymitch finally chimed in, his voice muffled from behind his own glass of wine.

"Well, Blondie's right about that."

Effie shot him a look full of betrayal. Haymitch just rolled his eyes.

Katniss was bristling. "Then why are so many victors attractive? Seems to me like they get a lot of sponsors."

"They don't just rely on good looks. They've got the appeal to back it up in other ways. Levi, for instance—he's large, with a strong, sturdy stature from hauling dead carcasses all his life. Handy with a knife, too. The audience will immediately view him as a threat—he can play that up.

"So, what does a tribute do when they don't have a threatening countenance or any other imposing features? They can still use their bodies in other ways—they can seduce the audience. Sex sells, sweetheart, and I'm afraid you don't have a whole lot of that," Peeta said dryly. Her cheeks reddened from a mix of anger and embarrassment.

"If you coach me like you're supposed to—" she gritted out, but he cut her off with a snort.

"Coaching can only do so much. Look at you—you're as bland as toast. How can you expect to seduce anybody when you're scared of your own sexuality?"

Katniss' face practically purpled; a few of the others cleared their throats uncomfortably, and Effie gave a quiet, angry cough in an attempt to deter the conversation, but Katniss wasn't willing to let it go just yet.

"_You—_what do you know about me? You don't know _anything_."

He just shook his head, smirking. "I know enough just by looking at you. How exactly do you suppose you're gonna make people believe you want to fuck them when you've never even been fucked yourself?"

Silence settled around the table, everyone too stunned to speak until Katniss slammed her silverware down. "Fuck you," she snarled and stormed off to her room.

Haymitch sighed loudly. "Shit, Blondie, your people skills make me look like fucking Caesar Flickerman."

Effie was practically quivering with barely suppressed rage. "Peeta Mellark, what is wrong with you?" she hissed. He scoffed; that was a loaded question. "She's your tribute. You are responsible for her while she is here. What are you thinking saying those kinds of things to her? It's inappropriate and not the least bit helpful!"

Peeta shot her an exasperated look. "She's in the Capitol to fight to the death, Effie. I'm not her chaperon on a field trip. She deserves to know the truth about her prospects."

"You could try to be a little more positive," she insisted. "Who's going to want to sponsor a moody, surly tribute?" She huffed and dabbed her mouth with her napkin in an effort to regain her composure. Then she smiled brightly at Levi, who looked dismayed. "Don't worry, dear. We will all work effortlessly to secure sponsors for the both of you. Everyone loves a challenge!"

Haymitch scoffed and pushed away from the table, mumbling something under his breath about retreating to his room. The others did their best to stir the conversation again. Peeta just continued to stare in the direction where Katniss had disappeared.

* * *

Coverage of that night's parade had been playing nonstop all night, yet Peeta couldn't bring himself to change the channel. He was slumped down in an armchair in the common area, nursing a whiskey on the rocks, his eyes glazed as he watched the repeated loops of chariots and costumes and Caesar's obnoxiously enthusiastic descriptions.

He didn't even hear her approach until she materialized right in front of him, blocking his view of the TV.

His pulse spiked at the sight of her, but otherwise he didn't react beyond a quirk of his eyebrow.

Katniss glowered at him, her arms hugging her loose night shirt to her frame. Finally, she spoke. "You're wrong."

He pursed his mouth in amusement. "You're gonna have to be a little more specific, sweetheart. I'm wrong about a lot of things." He could tell the endearment aggravated her; it was a patronizing habit he'd picked up from Haymitch over the years. Most girls didn't react to it. She clearly hated it.

It made him want to use it more.

Katniss swallowed, keeping her voice low. "You're wrong. About me. I can be sexy. I can make viewers want me."

He pressed his lips into a thin line as he surveyed her. Her legs were bare, but the shirt hung down almost to her knees. Her hair was loose and wavy. He wondered if she'd painstakingly arranged this look or if she'd just rolled out of bed. He thought it might be the latter—natural, unintentional.

And _that_ was incredibly sexy.

Licking his lips, he deliberately dragged his gaze from her naked legs to her face, taking his time to appreciate everything in between. Her blush was illuminated by the glow of the television.

"Convince me," he said simply, swigging his whiskey. Apprehension flashed through her eyes, but she shoved it back, sucking her bottom lip into her mouth. He knew what she was doing; he knew what she'd come for.

He recognized that look. He saw it often enough on the Seam girls he took home.

It was exactly what he'd hoped for.

She dropped her gaze to the floor briefly before looking back up; she looked at everything in the room but him as she tucked her hair behind her ear. "What...do you want me to do?" she asked, her voice cracking slightly. She cringed at the betrayal of her emotions.

The corners of his mouth curled slightly, but he kept his gaze hard. "Take off your clothes."

Her eyes widened, almost imperceptibly. "I—out _here_?" She glanced around the otherwise empty room.

Right. The last thing he wanted was an Avox to wander through and scare her off, not when he had her so close to where he wanted her. Knocking back the rest of his whiskey, he let the cup clatter to the end table and stood up; he motioned for her to follow him, not waiting to see if she obeyed.

She did.

Peeta led her into his room, shutting the door behind her. She stood in the middle of his room, shuffling from foot to foot nervously. Her back was to him, so he circled around her to sit down on the edge of his bed. She met his eyes then, and he raised his eyebrows expectantly. "Well?"

She dropped her gaze, running her hands up and down her arms slowly, as if she were trying to warm herself up. Then she set her jaw and curled her fingers around the hem of her shirt, carefully, begrudgingly, lifting it up. His cock seemed to swell with every inch of new skin revealed—her thighs, her stomach, her bare breasts. Her nipples were hard, pebbled by the cold air.

He so badly wanted to wrap his tongue around them.

Her shirt fluttered to the floor, and he finally tore his eyes away from her breasts to look at her face. "Those, too," he said, nodding to her underwear. Katniss hesitated for a moment and then hooked her thumbs in the waistband to push them down. Once she stepped out of them, he drank in the sight of the small shock of hair at the juncture of her thighs, dark against her olive skin. He was surprised her prep team left anything.

Her whole body seemed to close in on itself—her legs clamped together, and she still wasn't looking at him, her hands anxiously pulling at her hair and draping it over her shoulder to conceal as much of her nakedness as she could.

He stifled a sigh. "Come here," he commanded, and she drifted toward him, her eyes fixed on the ground. "If you have any hopes of seducing me, you need to look me in the eye, _sweetheart_."

Her nostrils flared, and when she locked eyes with him defiantly, there was anger and fear there.

He was determined to see if he couldn't change at least one of those.

Grabbing her hips, he drew her closer between his spread knees; she was stiff under his touch. He brushed her hair back over her shoulder, baring her breasts to him once again. His fingers danced down the curve of her neck and over her shoulders, then he dragged his palms down the slope of her breasts, his palms catching on her nipples. He heard her inhalation and began to knead her breasts, watching her face. He lifted the weight of them in his palms and rolled her nipples under his thumbs, pinching and tugging them with his fingers. Her mouth parted slightly as she breathed heavily, soft squeaks sticking in her throat. Her eyes were squeezed shut.

He smiled to himself, twisting her nipples slightly. She gasped, her hands flying up to grip his forearms. Replacing one hand with his mouth, Peeta sucked her nipple between his lips. When she moaned in surprise, he sucked harder, swirling the bud with his tongue. Her breaths were ragged from the intensity of his ministrations, and her hand aimlessly threaded through his hair to steady herself. Catching her nipple between his teeth, he worried it eagerly, and she moaned.

Peeta moved his mouth to taste her other nipple, and when he felt her start to squirm, he released her breast. "Are you wet?" he asked huskily.

Katniss struggled to blink her eyes open, confusion present in them under the haze of lust. "What?" she managed to force out.

He snorted lightly, swiping a hand between her thighs to drag his fingers through her damp folds. She cried out in disbelief and shock, and he held his moist fingers up to her face to show her, rubbing her arousal between his thumb and first two fingers. "Are you _aroused_? Never mind, I just answered my own question." Katniss flushed pink, untangling her fingers from his hair. "Get on the bed," he told her, standing up to move around her.

She faltered only a moment until she noticed him taking off his shirt, then she climbed awkwardly onto his large bed. He almost laughed out loud, but his mouth watered, regardless, as he took in the sight of her ass in the air, her swollen, dusky lips peeking through her thighs; he had to shake his head to remember what he was doing and yanked his shirt off his arms.

She turned around to watch him undress. He unbuckled his pants and pushed them down his hips. His underwear followed; he didn't miss the way her eyes widened when she glimpsed his cock. It strained upward, hard and aching, and he took it in hand to stroke it purposefully. Her cheeks colored, and the lump of fear and anxiety bobbed in her throat. It made him harder.

When she averted her gaze, he shook his head. "I told you to look at me," he said through clenched teeth as his hand pumped his shaft, drawing her attention back to the cut of his hips and the dirty blonde patch of downy hair that surrounded the base of his cock. His mouth tugged to the side in amusement, and he released his erection then, crawling onto the bed. Katniss lay down on her back stiffly, her breasts heaving with her quick, shallow breaths as he spread her legs open to kneel between them. He propped her knees up, and her folds parted almost eagerly, glistening and tantalizing; he could see the wetness seeping out of her, and he groaned in appreciation, his mouth filling with saliva, his cock twitching and leaking with his own anticipation. He couldn't wait to taste her, but he would have to—right now, he just wanted to fuck her, good and hard.

Peeta lifted his gaze to her face again—her eyes flitted all over the place, drifting to the ceiling, darting over his shoulder. He growled in annoyance. "How many times do I have to tell you to look at me, Katniss?" His tone seemed to enrage her, and she met his gaze then, her mouth and eyes hard. "Good girl."

She bared her teeth at him. "Don't talk to me like that."

But he just smiled mockingly at her. "Is this part of your seduction technique? It leaves much to be desired, honestly." She clamped her mouth shut, so he lowered his body to hers, leveling his forearms on either side of her head. The peaks of her breasts brushed against his chest, and their faces hovered only inches from each other. His cock grazed against her pelvis, making her twitch in apprehension, all her defiance from a moment ago melting away. But she kept her eyes locked on his face obediently, the gray of her eyes like cold steel. Peeta wrapped his fist around his cock again and shifted his hips back to position himself at her center, but she pushed on his shoulder then, glancing frantically between his face and his dick.

"W-wait, don't you need—I mean, what about protection—"

He grunted in the negative and shook his head, already easing the head of his cock through her folds. "You're fine. Those shots you got prevent pregnancy." He made a noise of approval as her body readily coated his head with her slickness.

Her hands were still pressed against his chest, like a gesture of refusal, when he slid into her some more; she gasped, her fingers digging painfully into the cord of muscles in his shoulders. He met the natural resistance of her body and shook his head, arching his hips back to slide out of her. "Don't do that. You're tensing—it's gonna make it worse," he instructed sternly. He wasn't sure she heard him, though, so he pushed into her again, then slid out, ebbing in and out little by little; her body fought him the entire way, her walls pushing against the intrusion. Her face was clenched in pain, her mouth an open circle, until, finally, their hips were flush—she gasped out her protest, her back bowing off the bed naturally.

"You'll get used to it," he groaned quietly, relishing the way she felt around him—_this_, this was one of the best feelings, second only to the moment of his actual release.

Katniss made whimpering, plaintive sounds, and he could sense her nervousness and displeasure; it was in the tightness of her limbs, the trembling of her thighs around his waist, the flexing of her fingers on his shoulders.

He suddenly realized he hadn't even kissed her yet. He'd gotten ahead of himself. Lifting his head, he made eye contact with her briefly before latching onto her mouth and slipping his tongue between her lips. Her mouth was slack at first as he slanted his against hers—had she never even been kissed before?—but his tongue quickly warmed hers up, stroking and plying until she was responding just as eagerly.

She finally seemed to melt under him, her breaths warm and accepting against his mouth, so he began moving, his hips setting a steady pace. She tensed again instantly, strangled noises muffled by his mouth, but he didn't stop. His tongue scooped into her mouth repeatedly as his hips curved against hers, and when she felt pliant beneath him again, he released her mouth to pant raggedly.

"Touch yourself," he grunted; he had to repeat himself before the words registered with her, and she blinked at him in disbelief.

"I don't...how..." she breathed, undulating her hips just slightly to meet his increasingly frenetic thrusts.

"You know how. Don't tell me you never finger yourself. Rub your clit," he gritted out, his palm squeezing between their bodies to cup her breast forcefully. She whimpered and closed her eyes, her cheeks stained pink; after a moment, she snaked a hand between her legs. When she made contact, she moaned softly, her head rolling back, and he felt the ripples of her hand as she stroked her clitoris—haltingly at first until she grew more confident and uninhibited. Discomfort still creased her face, but the pleasure was beginning to smooth it out. He surged into her harder, his hips rocking against hers desperately. Katniss cried out, and her legs fell open wider to welcome him completely. A strained smirk spread across his face.

Her breaths started to come fast and harsh, and when he heard her moans hitch in her throat, he knew she was close. Abruptly, he halted his movements and yanked her hand out from between their bodies, pinning it above her head with her other wrist.

Her face snapped up to stare at him in bewilderment. He was still smirking, and when he resumed his thrusts, her hands trapped between his, her face flushed in rage as she struggled against the restraint. "No! Why—" she whimpered and groaned as he pumped into her relentlessly, too weak to fight him. Desperate for her release she was so unexpectedly denied, she writhed underneath him, but he didn't keep his pelvis still long enough to provide her any sort of substantial relief.

His orgasm flooded through him then, and Peeta groaned as he spilled himself inside her, his body taut and trembling above hers. Once he'd finished, his cock pulsing and expelling the last of his semen, he rolled off of her, finally releasing her wrists. "Go clean yourself up," he directed, his voice gruff and emotionless, and he stretched out on his back, pushing his damp curls off his sweaty forehead.

Katniss didn't move or respond right away, too stunned and breathless. But then she barked in frustration and shoved him. "You asshole!" she hissed, tears gathering in the corners of her eyes, thickening her voice. She shoved him again, more roughly this time, punching and kicking whatever she could touch. He almost laughed, but he grabbed her hands in his fists, locking them above her head again as he maneuvered his frame on top of hers.

"What?" he taunted. She glared at him, her face splotchy and red, her eyes black. Wrapping his long fingers around both her wrists, he moved his free hand down between her thighs. "Is this what you want?" he murmured thickly as his fingers began to work her clit, rubbing tight circles over it. She tightened immediately underneath him, her face screwing up with pleasure—her previous anger was forgotten, it seemed. "I asked you a question, Katniss."

"Yes!" she shouted. "Yes, I want it, I want it, please, please, _please_," she chanted desperately, her hips bucking against his hand. It didn't take long to get her off—she shattered seconds later, moaning hoarsely as she shuddered and came. He waited for her eyes to flutter open and focus on his face before he retracted his hand and lifted his body off of hers.

"You still need to clean up. You're bleeding," he said dismissively as he left the bed to use the bathroom and clean himself of the blood and semen, as well.

* * *

Katniss was shy the next morning, back to avoiding his gaze. After he'd returned from the bathroom last night, he'd found her gone. He'd been mostly unbothered; he never let the other girls stay the night.

But waking up that morning alone had been oddly unsettling, especially when he thought back to the night before, how tight she was, how wet and willing she'd been. He had to jerk himself off in the shower after waking up, unbearably aroused by the recollection of their night.

He'd been with virgins before. There'd been nothing particularly special or commemorative about the occasions. If anything, he'd been annoyed with their inexperienced fumblings. Katniss hadn't known what she was doing, either. Aside from her own stimulation, she'd been less involved than a lot of the other virgins he'd been with.

Yet, he wanted more of her.

So he watched her unabashedly as he ate his breakfast. He could tell she wanted to look at him; she kept her eyes on her plate, but she sneaked glances at him through her eyelashes without making direct eye contact. He smiled smugly to himself, shoveling egg into his mouth.

Haymitch was rambling on about strategy for the next three days of training; Levi listened intently and nodded his head. Peeta wasn't sure if Katniss was paying much attention, but he knew he was only half-listening himself.

"When you're down there, don't reveal any of your skills with the bow or the knife, got that?"

That got Peeta's attention. "What?" That was a new strategy. The older man shot him an exasperated look.

"They need to spend their time learning things they don't already know. Save their talents for their private sessions, stay under the radar until then."

Peeta was already shaking his head adamantly. "No, they need to show the others what they're capable of. Intimidate the competition."

Haymitch scowled. "You want to paint huge red targets on your tributes' backs?"

"It's the strategy the Careers use, Haymitch!" he nearly shouted. Katniss and Levi's eyes bounced between their two mentors as they volleyed back and forth.

"We don't _want _the Careers paying any more attention to them, Blondie," Haymitch growled.

"You didn't seem to have a problem with it when I did it," Peeta snapped, and Haymitch narrowed his eyes.

"Yes, and look how well that turned out for you."

That silenced him; Peeta stared at him, perplexed. What did that mean? It _had _worked out well for him. He'd won, hadn't he? The plan had worked, better than he'd even expected it would at the time—he'd never even thought he could win.

Was the older man trying to say something about him presently then? Suddenly, Peeta understood; Haymitch was judging him. Judging him for his past actions in the games, judging him for his coping mechanisms ever since—judging him just like everybody back home did.

Hot rage coursed through his veins then, and his fist snapped closed around his tumbler of orange juice and vodka. He kicked his chair back suddenly as he stood up. "Fine, since you've got it all figured out, old man, what do you need me for?" he sneered, stomping out of the room, tossing back the rest of his drink. In the confines of his quarters, he flung the glass across the room; it shattered into shards and ice against the wall.

Breaking something felt nice. But it wasn't enough. So he hurled everything he could lift in his hands, vases and lamps and tacky, porcelain trinkets. He finally collapsed in an armchair, breathing heavily as he surveyed the damage. After a few minutes, he summoned an Avox to bring him more alcohol. She was taken aback when she saw the state of his room, but he'd hastily snatched the bottles from her and dismissed her before she could start cleaning. He liked the disarray. It fit how he felt on the inside.

Peeta languished in his room the rest of the day, well into the night. His presence and expertise clearly weren't needed, so what did it matter? He'd spread out across his bed hours ago, absently sipping some brandy. His head was fuzzy—he hadn't eaten since lunch, when he'd ordered a large meal, but, strangely enough, he didn't feel hungry in the slightest.

He wasn't sure what time it was when he heard a knock on his door—really late, was the best he could figure. He didn't bother answering it, certain it was one of the Avoxes, and he didn't want them in his room again.

The door slid open, however, and he lifted his head up from his pillow. It wasn't an Avox.

It was Katniss.

She wavered at the threshold when she saw the destruction of his room, but she forced herself to step inside, the door closing behind her. He snorted in amusement as he took her in. She was dressed exactly the same as the night before. "Here to finish me off, sweetheart?" he asked wryly, dropping his head back to the pillow. He lifted his cup to his mouth and noticed it was empty. Sighing, he let it fall from his hand; it rolled down to the carpeted floor.

"No," she said quietly, and he quirked an eyebrow at the ceiling.

"Then what do you want?"

She didn't respond right away, but after a beat, she murmured, "I want you."

He wasn't sure he had expected that answer. He blinked a couple times before a slow smirk stretched his lips across his face, and he propped himself up on his elbows to stare at her. "Well, you've got me. What are you gonna do with me?"

Her tongue darted out to wet her lips. Despite the alcohol, he felt his groin tighten at the gesture as he imagined just what he would like her to do with that tongue. She edged closer to his bed, and when she was beside him, she looked around the room uneasily before she cleared her throat and whipped her shirt over her head. His eyes lingered on her small, pert breasts, her nipples begging for his mouth.

But he was going to let her do the work this time.

She was clearly confused by his inaction, so she lifted herself onto his bed, moving to lie down beside him, but he grabbed her arm and shook his head. "No. On top," he directed, tugging her above him. Her eyes widened in alarm.

"No, you—"

"You said you wanted me, Katniss. So, take what you want," he said, sitting up some to remove his shirt. His chest bare, he lay back down and watched her expectantly. She was frozen with indecision before she pressed her lips together and hesitantly touched his chest, running her hands over the hard muscles there, threading and unthreading her fingers through the dusting of light blonde hair. He rested his hands on her hips, forcing her to sit down on his groin. He could almost feel her warmth through his pants, and he sighed softly, running his hands up and down her smooth thighs.

She seemed unsure where to go from there, so she leaned forward, closing her eyes as she pressed her lips to his. He opened his mouth and groaned in the back of his throat when she dipped her tongue inside, clashing with his clumsily. The tips of her erect nipples grazed his chest teasingly as she kissed him, and his pants grew increasingly uncomfortable. Still, he knew he was going to need a little more than that, so he palmed her breasts roughly, filling his hands with the fleshy orbs. Katniss moaned against his mouth, and he broke the kiss abruptly.

"Sit up, I want to suck on your breasts," he ordered, and she floundered for a moment before angling her body so her breasts were in his face. He immediately sucked one nipple into his mouth and pinched the other. She gasped, jerking forward slightly, but she lowered herself down to him more; he opened his mouth to accept more of her breast, flicking his tongue over her nipple.

Katniss writhed and moaned above him under his greedy ministrations, one hand bracing herself up and the other shakily combing through his hair. He slid one hand up the inside of her thigh and traced a finger along the seam of her panties, quickly darting it underneath the damp crotch to tease her slit. "Oh!" she whimpered, her hips rocking of their own accord, trying to generate more friction on her clit. He pushed his finger inside her to draw more of her wetness out.

He pushed her back suddenly; a lustful haze clouded her eyes, and her mouth dipped into a frown until she heard his next words. "Now," he grunted, unfastening his pants and pushing the rest of his clothes off. "I want you to ride me."

She nodded dumbly. He kicked his pants and boxers off and forced her to sit down so he could tug her panties off. He gave his shaft a few quick pumps to make sure he was at full attention, then he forced her onto her shins, hovering her middle at the tip of his cock, but he stilled his hands and locked eyes with her. And waited for her to do the rest.

She got the hint, shifting her hips slightly to ease the head of his cock through her folds, then she sunk down onto him until he was sheathed inside her completely. She bit down on her lip, stifling a pained groan, and he hissed through his teeth as her walls contracted around his cock. He let her adjust a moment before he thrust his hips to spur her on. "It'll feel better once you start moving," he offered, his eyes fixed on her breasts. He actually didn't know if that was true—but he knew it would feel better for him.

Bracing her hands against his chest, she moved unsteadily at first, not sure which direction she wanted to go, but his mind was too foggy with alcohol to assist her; he was content to lie there and let her take control this time. Finally, she settled into a steady, rocking rhythm, her pelvis remaining locked with his so she could stimulate her clit. The tightness of her face lessened until her mouth hung open, her eyes closed, as she gulped for air greedily. Her breasts swayed enticingly before him, and he slid his hands up her ribcage to rest them in his palms. As he massaged them, she began to mewl loudly, her moans echoing around the room.

"Ah, _fuck_, you feel good," he murmured, rolling his head back; his hips thrusted up into her with a certain amount of measured control. And she did feel good—nice and tight and wet, but he knew the alcohol had dulled the sensation some because it didn't feel nearly as good as it had the night before. Still, he was enjoying watching and feeling her ride him so enthusiastically.

When she came, she cried out sharply, nearly straining off him, but he pushed down on her hips so he wouldn't slip out of her; he started thrusting into her harder. "Don't stop," he gasped harshly. After a moment of panting and trembling, she began to move again, following the direction of his hands so she was sliding up and down the length of his cock instead of rocking forward. Admittedly, that felt better, but after a few minutes of this he already knew he wasn't going to come. There was too much alcohol in him. But he didn't stop her for another ten minutes or so, still desperately clinging to the hope he could get off. Once he noticed the discomfort in her face, probably from the pain of propelling herself on her calves for so long or the lack of lubrication, he sighed roughly and halted her movements.

"Just—stop. It's not going to happen," he said sourly, forcing her off his cock. He was already softening, and he rolled his eyes in disgust.

"Oh," she whispered, her eyes round with disbelief and confusion. She plopped down onto the bed beside him, hard. "Did I do something wrong?" she asked after a moment's silence.

He shook his head, laughing bitterly. "No, Katniss. You didn't. I'm just too drunk to finish." Exhaustion was already setting in, and he flung his arm over his face, covering his eyes. Sleep. He needed to sleep it off.

The sheets rustled beside him as Katniss shifted for a solid minute, obviously unsure what to do. "Okay," she said simply. "I guess...I'll go then."

"Just go to sleep, sweetheart," he yawned, not even bothering to get dressed or cover himself. "We'll try it again later."

* * *

Peeta was a little surprised to find her still in his bed the next morning; he didn't remember falling asleep. He had to quash his usual irritation while shaking off the fog of sleep and a hangover, reminding himself who it was. She must have gotten up at some point and redressed because she had her night shirt back on. He chuckled quietly when he realized she had draped his boxers over his groin, too.

Katniss didn't stir, curled up in the fetal position on the other side of the bed, tucked against the wall. She was breathing softly and evenly, so he rubbed a hand over his face then pushed himself off the bed, letting his boxers fall to the floor as he walked to the bathroom. He wasn't sure how long he was in the shower, letting the hot water beat against his tired muscles, but when he emerged, his bed was empty. She'd slipped away again. He frowned pensively as he dressed himself, mussing his damp hair.

He must have been in the shower for a while because when he wandered into the dining area, everyone was already seated, even Haymitch. Katniss acknowledged him briefly, but she still seemed flustered by his presence in the company of others. Peeta noticed the empty seat beside her, and he smiled to himself, taking it as an invitation.

"Good morning," he greeted cheerfully. The others gave him guarded looks, considering his behavior the day before, but Effie and the stylists were unfailingly polite if nothing else and welcomed him warmly.

"Good morning," Katniss mumbled into her glass of orange juice; he caught the light blush highlighting her cheekbones, and his grin widened. She was impossibly sexy in her modesty. She was a conundrum, he thought, as he recalled how she'd appeared in his room the night before, so direct and bold in her assertion of her desires. He felt his groin stirring already, and he piled food onto his plate to distract himself.

But now all he could think about was the way she'd writhed above him, her breasts bouncing and her abdomen rippling with her efforts. Fuck. He was getting hard. He wished he hadn't been too drunk last night to get off.

He looked at her out of the corner of his mouth as he ate, noticing how tense and rigid her body was as she ate halfheartedly. He wondered if she was thinking about last night, too. The way her thighs were clenched together told him she probably was. He smirked.

"How was training yesterday?" Haymitch finally asked, biting into a crispy strip of bacon. Levi chimed in first to relay the events of the previous day in the training center, Katniss throwing in unenthused confirmations here and there. Her mind was clearly elsewhere, Peeta was sure. Dropping his hand under the table, he discreetly reached it across the small distance between them to her lap. She jumped when his palm slid across her thigh, but she covered it with a cough and took a sip of her drink, her face flushing red. She watched him out of the corner of her eye but didn't dare turn her head to look at him. He kept his attention on the conversation at hand as he quietly ate his melon slices, simultaneously slipping his hand between her thighs.

She grabbed his wrist then to stop him; he heard the uptick in her breathing at the proximity of his hand to her center. Slowly sucking the melon into his mouth, he extended his middle finger, barely brushing against the fabric of her leggings, the thin fabric providing little barrier to her middle. She inhaled sharply, her eyes fluttering closed briefly as he swept his fingertip up and down the crotch of her leggings, the pressure on her folds a fleeting, teasing sensation. After a tense moment, she uncurled her fingers from his wrist and released his hand, allowing him to press his hand against her center fully. Katniss snatched a croissant off her plate and stuffed it into her mouth to stifle her heavy breathing.

Swallowing the juices of the melon, Peeta bit a piece off of the slice and chewed it slowly, as he rubbed her clit through her pants. He knew she was trying hard to muffle her pleased sounds; her fist was squeezing the croissant so hard it was crumbling in her hand—her other hand was turning white from gripping the table edge so tightly.

Popping the rest of the melon into his mouth, Peeta casually observed the other occupants of the table; no one seemed to notice her behavior or the way his arm flexed almost imperceptibly as they chattered endlessly about training and the games. He didn't care—his entire focus was on the heat and wetness between her thighs, which was slickening his hand even through the fabric of her clothes. Katniss kept taking bites of the croissant, but she didn't appear to be swallowing any of it, her cheeks puffing out as she hoarded the flaky roll in her mouth—her sounds were getting a little louder, and though she made an effort to keep them open, her eyes kept shutting for longer periods of time; finally she just cast her head down, some of her hair falling in front of her face to conceal how heated she was.

He didn't move his fingers any faster, but he bore down harder; she came soon after, the croissant mashed in her fist as she pressed it to her mouth. She whimpered in the back of her throat, a little too loudly, drawing strange looks from a few of the others. Peeta stopped moving his hand as she throbbed against his fingers in an attempt to deflect any suspicions. The others soon turned back to their food and the conversation; only Haymitch seemed to be watching the two of them intently, a strange look in his eyes. Peeta raised his eyebrows, biting into another slice of melon, and then he turned his head to Katniss, whose whole body seemed to sag now, the crushed croissant still pressed to her lips.

"Those are amazing croissants, aren't they?" he threw out casually, chuckling darkly when she managed a weak nod.

When the tributes were dismissed to get changed for training, Katniss practically ran from the table, shooting him a nasty glare as she went. Peeta just grinned to himself as he finished the rest of his breakfast.

Later that day, he and Haymitch had to meet with Capitol residents to start securing potential sponsors for their tributes. They had just stepped into the elevator when the older man fixed him with a pointed look. Peeta arched an eyebrow curiously. "What?"

"Whatever you're doing with that girl, you need to stop," he said harshly. Peeta blinked, trying not to smile.

"I don't know what you're talking about," he said innocently, but Haymitch glared at him.

"She's too young, Blondie."

Peeta shrugged, leaning against the glass wall of the elevator. "Not as young as you think," he replied cryptically, letting his smile slip through this time, but Haymitch shook his head.

"She's your tribute. I'm telling you, it's a mistake. You don't want to get too attached," he warned. "I've been at this for a while. Trust me."

Peeta glowered suddenly, pushing off the wall. "And you know everything, don't you?" he snarled, stalking out of the elevator when the doors slid open on the bottom floor. He wasn't attached to her. He just wanted to fuck her. Like the other districts didn't deal with this; he knew for a fact it happened with the Career districts. He'd already overheard one of the District 1 mentors bragging about bagging the female tribute, Glimmer.

He was doing Katniss a favor, really. She could very well die in a week's time—shouldn't she soak up every last bit of pleasure she could?

* * *

_Feedback appreciated! Pretty nervous about this one :)_


	2. Part II

_**a/n:** Here is the last part. Thank you for reading and for reviewing so far! I know this Peeta is a little hard to stomach for some people—he's meant to be. Given the prompt, I couldn't imagine a Peeta who would seduce Katniss as her mentor, without being at least a little fucked in the head. It just didn't gel with the Peeta we know from canon. So I hope the exploration of his darkness in this story makes sense in that regard._

* * *

Peeta was frustrated. He and Haymitch had spent all afternoon trying to secure sponsors, which was tedious work in itself—a lot of schmoozing and flirting with Capitol men and women alike, who were so insipid and self-involved Peeta actively began to daydream about bashing their heads in, all with a brilliantly fake smile plastered on his face.

But beyond that, Peeta noticed that his fellow mentor spent a disproportionate amount of time talking up Levi. It wasn't unusual for them to focus on one tribute over the other—only one could win, after all, and it made sense to focus their attention on who they thought stood a better shot of winning.

He _was_ surprised that Haymitch favored Levi over Katniss, however.

Katniss was a hunter. She knew how to use a weapon—and not just any kind of weapon; she knew how to use a long-range weapon that would keep her out of most immediate danger. She was small and weighed no more than a bag of flour, he was sure, but he could tell she was lithe and fit. She wasn't as frail or as weak as a lot of their past tributes. Levi was strong and built for close combat, and he knew his way around a knife; this year had yielded District 12 their best chances of winning in a long time.

Yet, despite Levi's shining attributes, there was just something about Katniss Peeta couldn't quite put his thumb on; he knew, he just _knew_, she had a real shot at winning.

But she didn't stand much of a chance if Haymitch didn't help direct any sponsors or attention her way.

"Why are you choosing Levi?" Peeta demanded later that night, and Haymitch regarded him warily, sipping his wine.

"He's the butcher's son, Peeta." As if that was reason enough alone.

"But you _know_ Katniss is a hunter! She can use a bow and arrows, and she'll be able to feed herself—"

Haymitch cut him off, "You're assuming she'll even be able to get her hands on a bow and arrows. She doesn't stand a chance in the bloodbath, boy. She won't even be able to get close enough to get the bow." He shook his head. "Levi's got the best shot."

Peeta didn't understand why he was so aggravated about this, just that there was a buzzing that started low in his skull and crept up through his brain as it always did when he felt his anger inexplicably rising. "He doesn't have the right kind of appeal, Haymitch—he doesn't have that, that _quality_—"

"Weren't you just the other day telling everybody how unappealing Katniss is?" he interjected drily, and Peeta gritted his teeth. Haymitch shook his head. "I told you not to get attached, Blondie. You're not looking at this objectively."

His conversation with Haymitch was only making him more agitated. It wasn't a matter of attachment—it was a matter of _strategy_, and Peeta just fundamentally disagreed with the older man on who to back.

He knew it was pointless to argue further with him, though. Haymitch was as stubborn as he was. For once in his life, Peeta couldn't find the words. He couldn't explain it, what it was he saw in Katniss, how, exactly, he knew that she was a fighter. She'd been on death's door before, hadn't she? By all accounts, she should be dead. So many Seam kids like her were. And yet, here she was, looking stronger and better fed than even some Merchants from their district, ready to face down death again. But he couldn't explain any of this without thinking about that night again, and it was something he never wanted to speak of. Especially not to Haymitch.

So Peeta stormed out of the room, effectively ending the discussion. Not that Haymitch minded, he was sure; the less that man had to talk, the better. Peeta was at Katniss' door before he even knew where he was heading. He knocked curtly, glancing both ways down the empty hallway. When she opened the door a moment later, he swept inside, ignoring her look of surprise.

"What—" she started, but he swallowed the rest of her words with a kiss. She went rigid at first but eased against him more readily than she had before, balancing on her toes as he wrapped his arms around her, crushing her to his chest. Their tongues dueled for dominance; he was impressed, and a little surprised, by her new-found assertiveness.

Peeta broke the kiss to look at her; her lips tried to follow his, almost unconsciously, until she opened her eyes to meet his gaze. Her brow creased under the intensity of his stare. "_What?_" she asked again, agitation rising in her voice, a scowl already twitching her lips down at the corners. The words were on the tip of his tongue, ready to lecture her on just how important it was that she bolster her reputation in training, impress the Gamemakers, but he stopped himself. Suddenly, he just didn't feel like talking.

No, there were other things his tongue could be better used for.

Hoisting her into his arms, he carried her to her bed, where he tossed her down unceremoniously. She bounced slightly on her ass, her arms flailing to catch her balance until she slumped back on them. Her earlier look of annoyance had given way to amazement. If she was still pissed about what he'd done at the dining table this morning, she didn't show it. Peeta reached down and hooked his fingers under the waistband of her pants.

"Take your shirt off," he commanded, the first words he'd spoken to her since he barged into her room. Katniss complied, slipping her shirt over her head and wiggling out of her pants as he jerked them down her legs. Her panties followed suit, and after he'd discarded his own shirt, he knelt down at the side of the bed and yanked her hips to the edge. Her eyes widened.

"What are you doing?" she asked nervously, sitting up as he threw her legs over his shoulders. He spared her a glance before he pressed a finger between her folds; she wasn't wet enough yet, so he pumped it inside her slowly, already feeling her natural lubrication increasing. Her head fell back, and she exhaled in satisfaction.

"I'm gonna taste you," he finally answered her, curling his finger inside her slightly before retracting it. Her head shot up in alarm.

"What do you mean—" But him sucking his finger into his mouth silenced her, her eyes going round. "Oh."

He flashed her a crooked smile, even as he licked her arousal off his index finger; she was tangy. Earthy, almost. He liked it. "Oh, I'm just getting started."

Her breath hitched in her throat when he spread her folds open, but she didn't have a chance to respond before his tongue dipped into her. She cried out in shock as he outlined her slit, mapping every plane and crease with his mouth. When he thrust his tongue inside her, he realized her body was quivering fiercely, and he swallowed her slickness greedily like it was nectar. Katniss was panting, her breaths rapid and choked, and he had to splay his hand across her pelvis and force her down to the bed to tame the wild bucking of her hips.

Once he'd exhausted his exploration of her folds and walls, he dragged his tongue up to her clitoris, where he flicked it teasingly before sucking it into his mouth. Her back lurched off the bed, her breasts curving into the air as she shrieked his name, and he was sure he'd never seen a more beautiful sight. He groaned appreciatively, sucking harder until she came loudly, clawing at the sheets, at his hair, whatever she could reach, shuddering and gasping. Peeta eased off her some, dropping his mouth to her entrance again to lap up the rush of wetness that had accumulated between her folds, and after her breathing had evened out some, he seized her clit once more, rolling it between his lips and tongue.

She cried out, pushing on his head. "Peeta, it hurts—" she whimpered, squirming against his mouth in discomfort, but he persisted, suckling her clit more gently this time until she began to respond more earnestly. He pumped two fingers inside her to accentuate the increased pressure of his mouth. Soon, she was keening brokenly as she rode his face uninhibitedly, and then she came again with a strangled shout.

She was a mess of trembling bones and flushed skin when he released her and stood up. She didn't watch him undress, her eyes closed and her head rocking from side to side; she didn't open her eyes until she felt him crawling over her, grabbing her arm to roll her onto her side. He was pleased when he received no resistance, her limbs pliable, and he pushed her top leg up so her knee was almost tucked against her chest. Peeta lowered his body so he was practically resting on top of her, nudged his cock between her thighs and then thrust into her in one swift motion.

The intrusion brought her back to herself, and she yelped, pushing off the bed a fraction before she collapsed again; he continued to plunge into her without pause. She squeezed her eyes shut and moaned, turning her face to bury it in the sheets. Peeta grunted as he fucked her, using his hands and knees to rock himself forward, his cock disappearing between her closed thighs. "Fuck, you're so fucking tight—and wet," he gasped, gritting his teeth. Because of the angle, her walls hugged him tighter, encasing him completely in her velvety enclosure, and every time his head slid through the barrier of her walls, he thought he was going to die. "Do you like this?" he demanded, and she nodded frantically into the sheets, digging her fingers into the mattress as she wiggled her other arm out from beneath her body to prop herself up on her elbows. "_Say it_."

"_Yes_, I like it," she whimpered, her head bowed to the mattress. With her torso raised, her body jerked more easily with every jut of his hips against her ass. "I like it, it feels good, it feels _so good_," she chanted plaintively. Her pleas made his cock swell more, and after just a few more whips of his lower body, he exploded inside her with a prolonged growl. He dropped down on top of her, pinning her to the mattress, but she didn't complain under his weight. After his heart beat had slowed and his cock had stopped twitching inside her, he buried his face in her damp, knotted hair and murmured his next words against the base of her skull.

"I hope I didn't wear you out too much 'cuz I'm gonna fuck you all night."

Katniss simply nodded her acquiescence.

* * *

And he did. Peeta wasn't sure when they eventually fell asleep, wrapped haphazardly in a tangle of each other's limbs, but he woke with the sun regardless; he never slept well. It wasn't nightmares—just a general sense of unease, like he was certain something bad was going to happen if he slept too long. When he stirred, he watched her sleep for a little while; she was prettier than he gave her credit for, especially when her face was relaxed and devoid of her usual scowl. But he kind of liked how irritated she normally looked—she didn't try to please anybody with fake or disingenuous smiles. Not like he had to while growing up, before the games. Before the world made him a killer.

He woke her up a little later, knowing Effie would be by soon to round her up for training. Now that he was remembering his conversation with Haymitch the night before, there were things he needed to discuss with her before she went down.

When she squinted at him groggily, her face lined with grumpiness, he choked back a chuckle. This was serious. "Today's your private session with the Gamemakers. You need to make sure you wow them."

"Huh?" she croaked, rubbing her eyes, clearly still lingering between waking and unconsciousness. She shifted in his arms and tried to sit up some, tugging the sheets around her naked body.

He bit back a sigh. "I don't know if Haymitch has been giving you the best advice, about lying low in training. But it's too late now, so you need to step up your game when you're in there with the Gamemakers."

She stifled a yawn with her palm. "Okay."

"I'm serious," he pressed urgently. "You need to make sure you leave a lasting impression on them. They're going to dismiss you immediately based on your stature and district alone—you need to stand out from the start."

This time she frowned. "I know that. You think I'm stupid? I'll do what I can."

He rolled his eyes and released her, rolling over to scrounge for his clothes on the floor. "You need a high score, Katniss. Very high," he continued, jerking his legs through his pants. "There's only so much we can do as your mentors to convince these fucking blithering idiots to sponsor you unless they see something to back it up. So just remember that today."

He was already walking toward the door when Effie's shrill voice rang from the other side. "Wake up, Katniss! You've got a big, big, big day ahead of you!"

Katniss gasped and scrambled to shield herself; Peeta just grinned, sliding the door open, anyway. Effie jumped back at his unexpected emergence—shirtless and clearly satisfied. "Morning, Effie," he said nonchalantly with a lopsided smile, tugging his shirt over his head as he breezed past her on his way to the dining area. He knew he would get an earful from her later about propriety or some such bullshit, but he didn't care; he was suddenly very, very hungry.

* * *

He'd been right about the lecture from Effie, though she didn't approach him until late that afternoon; frankly, he was surprised she waited so long. She refrained from scolding him until it was just her and Peeta in the common area, waiting for the others and their tributes to finish their private sessions.

"It's really unprofessional to sleep with a tribute, Peeta," she whispered conspiratorially, her eyes darting around to ensure no one else walked in and overheard them.

He decided to play dumb because aggravating Effie was one of life's only joys these days. "How so?" he asked cluelessly. Her face flushed.

"For one, it's unfair to Levi to show any sort of favoritism to Katniss!" she hissed.

His raised his eyebrows innocently. "Oh, should I fuck him, too, then?"

She squawked in disbelief, scandalized by his brazen suggestion. "It's inappropriate to engage in any sort of—of physical relations with any of the tributes," she said tightly.

He smiled. "More inappropriate than what you do with Haymitch?" he asked, hinting at the sexual relationship he knew them to have. She pursed her mouth into a thin line, her lips turning white with the strain of holding back her retort. But she said nothing more, huffing through her nose and folding her arms over her chest as she slumped into the couch.

Eventually, the others congregated in the common room to talk and wait. Levi showed up first, looking pretty despondent. He relayed what had happened in his private session, his demonstration with the knives, but the Gamemakers had been pretty drunk and distracted, singing some drinking song. Peeta was antsy for Katniss to arrive, jiggling his leg nervously as the rest made small talk; if the Gamemakers had checked out already by Levi's session, how far gone were they when it was Katniss' time?

It wasn't even half an hour later when she stormed into the suite, blowing Effie and Cinna off when they called to her. She looked agitated and upset as she disappeared down the hallway to her room.

What the fuck?

Everyone looked at each other in confusion. After a few minutes of quiet speculation, Peeta pushed off the couch and headed after her, ignoring the suspicious looks Haymitch and Effie shot him as he went. Her door was shut, which wasn't unusual, and he rapped courteously, waiting for a response.

"Go away!" she yelled. He rolled his eyes and slid her door open—she hadn't remembered to lock it, at least. When he stepped inside, he saw she was curled up on her bed, but she rolled over at the sound of the door and flew at him. Her cheeks were splotchy, and her eyes were red with tears—and she looked pissed as hell.

"I told you to go away!" she snapped, barreling into him as she tried to shove him back toward the door. He stumbled slightly but dug his heels in. He cocked an eyebrow down at her in challenge, and when she realized he wasn't going to budge, she gave him one last shove and spun around. He grabbed her arm, turning her back toward him, but she struggled against him. "I don't want to talk to you right now! Leave me alone!"

He rolled his eyes again. Sometimes, he forgot that she was still a teenager. "Stop acting like a child. I'm not your father," he said calmly, his grasp still tight on her upper arm. He wasn't prepared for the venomous look she shot him after that, her palm connecting with his cheek sharply.

"Don't you dare talk about my father! I'll fucking kill you!" she hissed. He was momentarily stunned—but only momentarily. His next moves were so fast, she didn't even have time to react. Peeta trapped her in his arms, her back flush against his chest, one of her arms pinned behind her; his free hand was on her throat, forcing her head back. He only applied a modicum of pressure, not enough to cut off her airway but enough to make his point.

"I'd like to see you try, sweetheart," he whispered in her ear. When she didn't struggle, he continued, curious what had set her off exactly, "Did I hit a nerve?" She was breathing heavily, and he felt her heart thrumming under his fingers. Fluttering with fear. Like the tributes he killed. Like the girls he fucked.

Katniss didn't respond or move, and he eventually loosened his hold, absently stroking her throat with his fingertips. Something told him he shouldn't push the issue with her. "Fine, you don't have to tell me about your father. But as your mentor, you need to tell me what happened in your private session and what's got you so worked up."

She finally huffed and wriggled in his embrace; he let her go, and she stumbled away from him, angrily swiping at her tears. "I don't know!" she blurted, her voice strangely high-pitched. "I just got so—_mad_! They weren't paying any attention to me, Peeta! I'm about to die, and they care more about their dumb fucking roast pig!"

He blinked. "Okay, one, you're not necessarily about to die. And, two, _what_ happened? I'm still not following."

Wringing her wrists, she actually looked nervous as she glanced at him before her eyes flitted away. "I shot at them."

"What?"

"I shot a fucking arrow at their stupid pig, Peeta!" she yelled, frustrated. When he didn't reply right away, she continued, "I just—I was so _angry_, and I shot an arrow at their pig, and then I stormed out!"

He was reeling from her admission. Had anyone ever shot at a Gamemaker before? What was she _thinking_?

Suddenly, he was enraged. "Are you seriously that fucking stupid, Katniss?" he spat, trying to keep his voice level, but he could already hear the blood surging in his ears, that buzzing in his skull.

Her gray eyes flashed. "I'm not—I just—I wasn't thinking—"

"No, you never do, do you? You're like a petulant, impetuous _child_," he spat, his voice rising an octave. And she was. She _was_ a child. Haymitch had been right. She was too young. She had fucked everything up. Who knew what the Gamemakers would do to her? Kill her? There was no way in hell they'd let her win now. He ran his hand through his hair, the rage coursing through his veins, causing him to shake slightly. He wanted to hit something.

"Like you never lose your temper!" she yelled, and he glared at her.

"My life isn't the one on the line here! And no, I certainly didn't try to kill a Gamemaker during my games!"

"I didn't _try_—if I had wanted to kill them, they'd be dead!"

Peeta shook his head, backing away from her. "I was wrong—I was wrong to bet on you. You're a fucking mess. You can't win these games," he muttered almost to himself, already turning back to the door. "I should have listened to Haymitch. He was right about you, and Levi—"

Katniss was in front of him suddenly, blocking his path, and she pushed on his chest, her eyes wide. "No—" And then she was kissing him, pulling herself up his frame to reach his mouth. Her tongue was frantic and desperate, stroking his. "Don't go," she mumbled against his mouth, pressing kisses to his lips beseechingly.

Her attempts to persuade him only aggravated him—but he let her kiss him, his hands gripping her hips tightly. He had to fight the urge to squeeze tighter, to find a place for his anger by digging it into her flesh.

He realized then just how hard he was. Of course. Growling, he pushed her away; she looked stupefied, but then she squeaked out an "Oh" when he pushed her down over a nearby table. Her palms slapped against the glass top, but she didn't resist as he ripped her pants and underwear down. She stepped out of them as he hastily pushed his own pants down, freeing his cock. He stroked it some before he moved behind her, and she inhaled sharply when she felt him against her back. His hands wedged between her torso and the table to squeeze her breasts roughly. Katniss moaned as her breath fogged up the glass, her ass wiggling against his thighs as his hands kneaded her breasts through her shirt. "Peeta—"

"Don't talk," he snarled, releasing her breasts to push her shirt up and expose more of her ass. "I don't wanna hear you right now." Just because he was horny didn't mean he wasn't still pissed. Katniss whimpered but bit down on her lip. He smoothed his palms over the smooth skin of her ass, then he took his erection in hand and teasingly dragged the head of his cock up and down the curve of her bottom, leaving a damp trail of pre-cum. She tried to push back on him, her frustration growing.

"Peeta, please," she begged, and he pushed her back into the table.

"Didn't I tell you not to talk?" he snapped. Something like a growl resonated deep in her throat, but she didn't speak. Good.

He pressed his cock between her thighs, sliding between them, and then he was inside her with one hard thrust. She gasped, her body flattening to the table; he knew it had to hurt some as there had been little foreplay, but she didn't voice her discomfort or objection. Peeta easily set a steady pace, plunging in and out of her with an urgency that rattled even him. His hand quickly found her clit; she didn't deserve it, but he wanted her to come hard—he wanted her so wet it was dripping down her thighs. As soon as his fingers began stroking her, she groaned in relief, and she rocked her hips back to collide with each of his thrusts. But she didn't speak, her raspy moans the only sounds falling from her mouth as he fucked her. Sometimes, she would yelp when his hips crashed against her particularly roughly or he pinched her clit unexpectedly.

He knew he wasn't going to last long, not with her enthusiastic thrusts and the purposeful contractions of her walls around his cock as he pushed into her, over and over again.

Oh, _fuck_, that was good.

Katniss didn't give a warning when she came, but he felt and heard it all the same. She cried out, smashing her face against the table as her orgasm surged through her. Peeta groaned as her walls gently milked him; now that she had come, he could focus on himself. Retracting his hand from between her thighs, he placed it on her hips and continued jerking her back to meet his angry thrusts. He could feel how slick she was now, despite the increasing friction of his cock moving in her, and now he could feel the tingling and tightening in his balls to signal his own orgasm, and, then, _shit_, he was coming.

He grunted as he emptied himself inside her, rolling his hips against hers blissfully until he was finished riding out his climax. Then he groaned and pulled out of her, his semen slipping down the inside of her thighs. With his release so, too, went his anger. Katniss started to slump down without his support, so he wrapped an arm around her waist to hold her up. Sighing wearily, he pulled his pants back up with one hand, then scooped her up into his arms and hooked his arms under her knees and around her shoulders. Her head lolled against his neck as she curled a hand around the collar of his shirt, breathing heavily.

"I think you need a bath," he said quietly, and she nodded in response as he carried her into the bathroom. He set her down on the edge of the tub carefully, then leaned over to turn the faucet on. Katniss rubbed at her face as she stared glassily at the floor, tugging on her shirt to cover her exposed lower half.

Peeta was checking the temperature of the water when she spoke. "What are they going to do to me, Peeta?" she asked. He looked at her thoughtfully.

"I'm not sure."

"Kill me?"

It was his initial concern, but once he considered it more clearly... "No, I don't think so. Wouldn't make sense this close to the games. If they want to kill you, they can just do it in the arena."

Her expression was pained. "Would they...hurt my family?"

He considered this. "No. They need them around in case you make it to the top 8. If anything happened to them, they'd be shit out of luck for interviews."

Katniss swallowed. "But...what about when—if I die?"

He had no idea. "Don't die," he said simply, hitting a setting on the faucet to fill the water with a lavender solution. It should be calming. "They'll probably just give you a low score," he sighed, rubbing his forehead. "Which will be unfortunate, but...I'll keep trying to get you sponsors."

Katniss nodded slightly. After a moment, she added, "I'm...I swear I'm going to try. To win. I'll try hard. I told—I told my sister I would." He nodded resolutely. He expected no less.

"Good."

Once the tub was filled, Katniss pulled off her shirt and bra, and he helped her climb into the large tub. She sank nearly beneath the water level, but her nose and eyes still peered out at him. With her settled in, Peeta crossed to the sink and washed himself off. He was about to leave when she called him back, sitting up some.

"Peeta." Her voice was soft, but he heard her. He glanced back at her expectantly. A beat passed, then, quietly, "Thank you."

Somehow, he knew that thank you extended beyond just that night, to a night several years ago. His set his mouth into a hard line. "Once you're done, you'll need to come back out for dinner and the scores."

Dinner was tense; Peeta had filled the others in on what had happened during her training session. Effie was nearly beside herself as she paced the room, screeching about etiquette and manners. The stylists handled the news much better, at least, and Haymitch just shook his head, leveling Peeta with a knowing look. Peeta had never wanted to punch his fellow mentor so hard before.

Katniss said little while they ate, and she curled into herself on the couch as they watched Caesar Flickerman announce the scores for all 24 tributes. Levi pulled an 8, and they congratulated him enthusiastically—an 8 was good. Peeta had gotten an 8 in his games.

He wasn't sure if that was comforting to him or not.

When Katniss' name and picture appeared, she fisted the couch cushions and held her breath—everyone did.

The number 11 flashed across the screen, but it didn't register for a full second. Then, Effie shrieked, startling everybody into action, and they laughed and applauded in disbelief. Only Katniss stared at the TV stupidly. "An 11? But—_why_?"

Haymitch snorted in amusement. "Guess they liked your spunk, girl." She blinked incredulously, smiling halfheartedly as the others congratulated her and toasted the tributes. When she met Peeta's gaze, he flashed her a crooked smirk as if to say "Good job, sweetheart." After a moment, she returned the grin widely.

* * *

When it was the day of the interviews, Peeta told Haymitch he could coach Levi and he'd work with Katniss. The older man had rolled his eyes in irritation. "If you're really wanting to help her, then you need to try to keep your dick in your pants for a few hours, Blondie," he advised drily and left it at that. And Peeta knew he was right; he at least planned to dedicate the first hour or two to talking her through her interview strategy—and then they could fuck.

But Katniss had been so aggravated after her morning with Effie, she hadn't been much in the mood to do anything else, especially talking.

So, instead, she was riding him on a couch in his room, her thighs spread wide over his hips. She held onto the back of the couch to leverage herself up and down his cock, her head thrown back as he alternated sucking on her nipples. His right hand was wedged between their bodies, deftly stroking her clit as she bounced on his lap, and her grunts grew louder and sharper, her walls gripping his cock tightly.

When she came a few minutes later, she stilled her movements, and he felt her walls spasm around his dick; it nearly coaxed him into his own orgasm, but he wasn't done yet. Peeta was about to flip her onto her back on the couch when she climbed off his lap and knelt down to the ground between his legs. Her face was flushed, her eyes glassy, and he arched an eyebrow—but once her mouth wrapped around his glistening head, he groaned in satisfaction.

Her tongue swirled around him, but then she jerked back , his cock popping out between her lips. Her eyes were wide and she held a hand up to her mouth. "Oh," she gasped, her nose wrinkled in mild revulsion. He chuckled gruffly, sliding a hand into her hair to pull her back.

"You taste good, don't you?" he teased, and she licked her lips apprehensively as if to get another taste. Her cheeks were redder, if that was possible, and then she peered up at him.

"Tell me how to do this. I don't...I don't really know how," she admitted, her gaze dropping to his cock, which throbbed angrily from the denial of his release. Peeta wrapped one of her hands around the base and started pumping it slowly for her; she watched in fascination.

"Put your mouth back on me," he forced out, fighting the urge to roll his head back. "Just suck on the tip if you don't feel comfortable, but you can lick the shaft if you want." She nodded mutely, opening her mouth to accept him again. Her fist pumped the base of his cock with his help, but she focused on just his head for the moment, flicking her tongue over it while she suckled. Peeta moaned, his fingers tightening on her scalp. How badly he wanted to just fuck her mouth, to shove his cock down her throat, but he knew he needed to go easy on her for her first blowjob.

His gentleness surprised him, and if he wasn't lost in a world of pleasure, he might have given more thought to his hesitation.

But her mouth felt impossibly good, and when she extended her tongue down his shaft to tentatively lick his wet, heated flesh, he forgot about everything else. "Suck your cheeks in," he demanded, his hips thrusting up slightly. Katniss complied, and with the increased pressure on his cock, he came soon after. Groaning loudly, he tried to push his cock farther into her mouth to bypass her gag reflex, but she choked on his semen regardless, unable to swallow it all.

She pulled away, coughing violently, and once he'd stopped reeling from his orgasm, he looked down at her. His breathing was heavy, but he smirked at her. "You gotta work on that," he said cheekily, and she glared at him, giving another wet cough. He wiped the back of his hand over her mouth to catch some of his semen, then he pulled her up to him for a thorough kiss. When he pulled away, her eyes were hooded and dark.

"Lie down on your back and spread your legs," he directed, and she followed his request quickly, her knees up and open for him eagerly. He took a moment to admire the view before he crawled down between her legs and latched his mouth on her center.

He made her come within minutes. Then he sucked on her until he was hard again and pushed into her to finish inside her.

Finally spent, Peeta rolled off of her with a grunt. "We should probably attempt to work on your interview technique," he mused hoarsely, and she looked at him.

"Haven't we been?" she asked, her eyes dancing with unspoken amusement, and if he wasn't so suddenly filled with jealousy at the idea of her fucking anyone but him, he might have laughed at her audacity; Katniss never made jokes.

Instead, he scowled and sat up, snatching up his clothes to put on. "I'm afraid Caesar's not going to be interested in your pussy, sweetheart," he grunted as he hastily got dressed. He heard a huff behind him, and he didn't need to look at her to know she was wearing an identical scowl. "Get dressed, and when I get out of the bathroom, I expect you to take this a little more seriously."

He slammed the bathroom door behind him.

* * *

Katniss' interview had been less than stellar; she had been incapable of any of the tactics he'd suggested, and despite what she told him that first night, she was in fact not capable of being sexy—at least, not when she tried. Eventually, after his seventh scotch, Peeta had just told her to answer the questions as honestly as she could and to try not to kill anybody while she was up there. Levi had been more compelling in his interview with his imposing presence and his tales of being a butcher, but Katniss still had that 11—and, therefore, the intrigue. It was something Peeta could work with while she was in the arena.

She didn't sleep much the night before the games, and neither did he. She'd said she wanted to be distracted, so he distracted her.

He wanted to be distracted, too, really.

It was well into the night when she curled up in his arms, tucked against his chest. He couldn't recall holding anyone like this before. He could practically feel her nerves buzzing under her skin. He tried to hold her tighter, but he worried his own anxieties were obvious. They didn't speak for a while; he felt her warm, quick breaths on his chest, her finger tracing over his clavicle.

Finally, he spoke. "I'll get you sponsors. And gifts. Don't go into the cornucopia, okay? I'll get you what you need. Just stay hidden as long as you can."

She inhaled shakily, her finger spasming on his collarbone. "...Okay."

He guessed he eventually fell asleep, but her tossing and turning woke him up periodically; he got her off with his hand each time to help her fall back to sleep. It seemed to help. But when it was time to get up, she looked exhausted and pale. She refused to eat, so he practically had to force some food down her throat. "It might be a while before you eat again," he told her, as if he were speaking to a child; she finally relented, but she would only eat some bread.

Before she left to meet with Cinna, he took her chin in his hand and forced her to look at him. "Remember what I said. I'll take care of you in there." There was a flicker of appreciation in her eyes, but the fear still shrouded her gray eyes heavily as she walked out the door.

* * *

Watching the opening of the games was always tough, though if he was being honest, it got easier every year. But this time, Peeta's stomach was so knotted, he couldn't even drink any alcohol to ease his mind.

He almost flipped his chair over when Katniss disregarded his instructions and darted a few yards to the cornucopia to grab a backpack. She nearly got a knife in her back courtesy of the District 2 female tribute for her efforts—but luckily, it snagged in her newly acquired bag. And now she had a weapon, at least. He wanted to be mad at her, but he supposed her disobedience worked out in her favor this time.

Levi actually made it to the cornucopia and retrieved a sword and a bag of provisions, but there was a horribly tense moment when he ran into the District 4 female tribute. He managed to dodge her trident and knock her down with the butt of his sword, gutting her before he darted into the woods. Peeta couldn't quash the irritation he felt at Levi's survival; the longer he was alive, the longer he split their district's resources between him and Katniss. And Peeta wasn't pleased with this.

Peeta knew the woods were the best possible terrain for Katniss, though. Katniss would thrive; Haymitch would realize that soon enough. Peeta was hopeful.

Until the Gamemakers set the forest on fire. When a fireball scorched Katniss' leg, he was out of his seat, begging Haymitch to send her medicine, but the old man refused. "Do you know how expensive that is? It's not life-threatening, boy. Let her tough it out—we need to save our money for when things are more dire."

Peeta ground his teeth in frustration, certain the older man was simply hoarding that money for Levi.

Katniss was treed by the Careers, in agony and with no access to food. Peeta was worried. Extremely worried. Haymitch refused to send her help, but if Peeta secured money specifically for a purpose, the older man would have to let him use it how he saw fit.

So that was what he did. He knew the circuits to work now, the kind of Capitolites to woo—women in particular, who thrilled at his attention, his flirty touches, his whispered words that hinted at something more, who threw all sorts of money at him for just a little time with him. It was no different from the girls back home, except the positions were essentially reversed. But Peeta could grit his teeth and bear it, as insufferable as these women were, as grating as their breathy moans and dramatics screams were while he pounded into them indifferently. He just thought of Katniss, and it was easy to finish.

Peeta was able to secure a substantial amount this way—it was late into the night when he returned to the control room. Katniss was still in the tree, the Careers laid out around the trunk, just anticipating her next desperate move.

"I got the money. Send her the medicine," he told Haymitch. The older man regarded him tiredly, shook his head, and got to work. Within minutes, a silver parachute bearing the best medicinal balm the Capitol had to offer was in her lap.

While the medicine took care of the immediate problem of her injuries, it did little to help her predicament with the Careers. But if anything was more expensive than medicine at this point, it was weapons. Securing enough money for that would take days—time Peeta just didn't think he had.

If only the bow was in her hands, instead of those of the District 1 female...

But Katniss found something just as useful: a tracker jacker nest. Using her knife, she was able to send the nest down into the unsuspecting Career pack at the first light of dawn. A few scattered, but a couple collapsed under the angry swarm, their hearts stopped by the venom. Katniss managed to steal the bow from District 1's lifeless, swollen hands and escape, but she couldn't avoid all the wasps. She didn't make it far before she, too, passed out under the duress of hallucinations.

She was in and out of consciousness for days, unable to escape the haze of the tracker jacker venom or move from the trench she'd collapsed into. Peeta wasn't able to sleep during that time, terrified that she'd be found by the Careers or another tribute in her vulnerability. He wasn't used to this sort of fear.

But the ditch helped conceal her, and she eventually woke up after three days. It took her a while to gather her bearings, but she was able to locate a stream nearby and quench her thirst, nibbling on the little food she had in her bag. She was weakened by days of inactivity and hunger.

But she was alive. And now she had a weapon.

Even Haymitch was impressed. Grunting, he sat back in his chair as he observed the screen she was on. Then he glanced Peeta's way. "Maybe you were onto something with the girl after all, Blondie."

Peeta tried not to growl his annoyance. If Haymitch was coming around to Katniss' side now, he needed to tread lightly. "Can we send her some bread? It's been three days; she needs to get her strength back up." The older man deliberated silently, so Peeta added, "It might boost her morale. To know she's got some support. Maybe send her some bread that reminds her of home."

Haymitch considered this, turning his attention to the screen with Levi. The butcher's son had managed to avoid running into any other tribute so far, but he was precariously low on food. They had sent him water and some nuts while Katniss was out, but he didn't know how to hunt, so he had to rely on plants and berries for sustenance. Peeta knew Haymitch had a choice to make now.

He hoped he'd make the right one.

With a pained sigh, Haymitch sat up and began pushing buttons on the panel. "I hope you're right."

Peeta couldn't hide his triumphant grin.

* * *

There were six tributes left, two of whom were from District 12. It was a feat unheard of for the poorest district. The bread they'd sent to Katniss seemed to lift her spirits; she stared at the loaf in awe, clutching it to her chest for warmth before splitting it open and inhaling deeply. It was a raisin and nut variety, something Peeta recognized from his parents' bakery. The thought of his family made his blood run hot with resentment, but he pushed it aside. He was glad it seemed to revitalize her, at least. Gifts for the tributes cost an exorbitant amount at this point in the games—it was unlikely he and Haymitch would be able to send her or Levi anything else.

With her bow and arrows and her proximity to a stream, Katniss was able to feed herself and take cover in tall, nearby trees. There was too much action happening elsewhere for the Gamemakers to worry much about her, it seemed. For the first time in a while, Peeta felt confident about a tribute's chances.

When Levi was killed by the District 1 male tribute's spear a day later, weakened by hunger and thirst, Peeta knew he should have been upset. But all he could focus on was the fact that Katniss was that much closer to winning; he'd never really been capable of remorse. Haymitch took it harder, however, dropping his head to his hands. After a few minutes of terse silence, he grunted and sat back, downing a glass of whiskey. Then he turned his gaze on Peeta; the resentment there perplexed him.

"Your girl better pull this off, Blondie."

* * *

It shouldn't have been as easy as it was. But, somehow, it was.

Katniss didn't have to do much work once she had the weapon. The cameras devoted little time to her, which meant the Gamemakers paid little attention to her. Which was good. The rest of the tributes took care of the rest, destroying each other until it was just Katniss and the District 2 male tribute, Cato. She was finally forced from her tree in search of water when the Gamemakers dried up all the streams and rivers. Peeta wished they could send her water so she wouldn't have to leave her safe haven, but he knew this was the finale—there was no way he and Haymitch could afford any gifts at this point.

She was almost to the cornucopia when Cato emerged from the woods, the mutts on his heels. Katniss scaled the horn in record time, her arrow notched and bow raised as she took aim at her enemy. Peeta held his breath, on the edge of his seat. Could she do it? _Would_ she?

She did.

Her arrow pierced his brain, right through his eye.

Cato died instantly. The mutts stopped in their tracks and then, just like that, they disappeared into a hole in the ground.

The rest happened so fast. The trumpets blared, followed by Claudius Templesmith's voice declaring Katniss Everdeen the victor of the 74th Hunger Games. Amid the roar of the Capitol crowd, the District 12 tribute was airlifted out of the arena by hovercraft. Surprisingly relatively unscathed.

Haymitch glanced at Peeta after a moment. They didn't speak, the stunned silence heavy between them.

Then Peeta laughed. He laughed until tears stung his eyes. And then he poured himself a hard-earned drink.

* * *

He couldn't see her for days while she recuperated. It was torture, and his endless rants and pacing aggravated Haymitch. "I think I liked you better when you were an unfeeling, drunken sociopath, Blondie," he griped, and Peeta just glowered at him.

Katniss' prep team helped make her TV-ready while Cinna worked on her post-victory interview outfit. Peeta and Haymitch had to fight the doctors and the Head Gamemaker to stop them from surgically altering her; they wanted to shave her nose down and stuff her breasts with laughably sized implants. Peeta couldn't imagine anything other than her small breasts filling his hands and mouth—it was unthinkable. They finally got the Head Gamemaker to relent on the basis that viewers would prefer to see her as they remembered her from the arena, but Peeta feared they would only change their minds in the future.

He feared a lot of things for Katniss now.

It was strange, being so acutely aware of someone else's presence in relation to his life.

Was this what Haymitch had meant about not getting too attached?

* * *

She was acting strangely.

When she was finally released from the hospital and brought to them, she was dazed and standoffish, only returning his hug after a noticeable moment of hesitation. But Peeta recalled his own victory, six years ago, and how he'd felt like he was just drifting through everything—the preparation, the interviews, the dinners and celebrations. Nothing had felt real, and at the same time, everything had felt _too_ real. She was in shock, he reasoned.

Still, he ached to pull her aside, into a dark room somewhere and lose himself inside her—it had been _weeks_. He was desperate and raw and frustrated, and she was alive.

The first interview was simple enough; Caesar did most of the heavy lifting as Katniss watched the recap listlessly and answered questions with curt, monotone replies that were surely off-putting to the audience. But it didn't matter. She didn't need to be likable anymore—she'd won. In fact, she was pretty much guaranteed to be liked even less than before.

Victory did not always bring popularity.

Peeta knew that well.

* * *

Only one last interview and a reception at Snow's stood between them and home now. It should have been easy enough.

It wasn't.

Somehow, word had gotten out about Peeta and Katniss' relationship, spreading like wildfire among the Capitol audience. Peeta hadn't been aware of this until Caesar brought it up.

"So, Katniss—rumor has it there's a budding romance between you and your District 12 mentor Peeta Mellark. Is there any truth to them? You can tell us—we're all friends here, right?" he goaded harmlessly, and off to the side, out of view of the cameras, Peeta watched intently, interested as to how Caesar was going to spin this story. As far as he knew, there was nothing illegal about their relationship, nothing in the rule books that prohibited fraternizing between the mentors and tributes. It might have been inappropriate and embarrassing for Katniss to be put on the spot, but they couldn't be punished now.

Katniss' face was stony, and she smiled tightly, a false flick of her lips. And then she shook her head. "No. Peeta is my mentor. There is nothing between us."

"Nothing?"

"Nothing."

Peeta didn't move. He could feel everyone's eyes on him. His expression didn't change. But inside he was reeling.

Nothing? _Nothing?_

He didn't know how to react, even if he had wanted to. He quietly slipped away before the interview ended. They still had a dinner to attend, and he tried to smile and chat and eat and drink like nothing was out of the ordinary. But he couldn't stop replaying her answer in his head.

_Nothing?_

She mostly avoided him during the reception, but at one point she made eye contact with him accidentally, and in that fleeting moment he understood everything: She had _played him_.

It took everything in him not to hurl the glass goblet he was holding across the room.

He waited until after the dinner, after they were back on the train and well on their way to District 12, to confront her. She was curled up on a settee near a window, her knees tucked against her chest, her forehead leaning against the glass as she watched the world outside whirl by. They were alone. She didn't lift her head when he approached.

"It was all for the games, how you acted," he stated, much more calmly than he felt. Katniss closed her eyes and after a moment, she gave one nod of her head.

Something in him shattered, something he didn't even think he possessed. A strained, amused laugh bubbled in his throat, and he shook his head in disbelief. "You used me. This was just some strategy you had worked out, wasn't it?" There, she nodded again, and his lip curled in disgust. His chest tightened in anger, and he balled his hands into fists at his sides. "I guess I should have expected as much from a Seam slut, huh?" he spat, wanting to rattle her, to hurt her.

Unfazed, she lifted her forehead off the window but still refused to look at him. "I knew you and Haymitch would pick Levi. I...needed to give you a reason to choose me instead. It was the only way I could think of. I had to get back to my sister. She _needs_ me."

He shouldn't have been so surprised. His propensity for women and sex had to have been well known around the district—in the end he was just a sucker for a nice pair of tits and a warm cunt, wasn't he?

He realized he was trembling; he wanted to yell at her, to shred her with every insult he could think of, to make her feel as foolish and as small as he felt right then—but he felt like he was going to puke. He needed to leave, he needed to hit something—or someone.

"Well, congratulations. I think you played the game better than anyone I've ever seen," he said coolly, his voice thick with bitterness; she didn't even flinch. He'd just started to turn away when she called to him.

"Peeta."

Everything in him screamed at him to keep walking, but something in his gut tugged him back. He spared her a withering glance. She was looking at him now; there was something in her eyes that confused him. His brow creased, but he was still guarded. He regarded her warily and waited for her to speak.

Katniss licked her lips apprehensively. "I knew...I knew the repercussions my actions would have. On Levi. I knew if you focused sponsors on me, that meant less for him. I knew my actions would kill him." She hesitated; Peeta wasn't sure he followed her. She continued, "I knew...and I didn't care. I didn't care that he would die. And then with Cato...I didn't even hesitate. Those mutts...they might have gotten to him first. I could have waited to see...but I didn't even hesitate. I just killed him. I wasn't even sorry. I just...I wanted it to be over." Her gray eyes pinned him to his spot. Her next words were strained. "What's wrong with me?"

He understood the look in her eyes now—he saw it in his own every time he looked in the mirror.

His face softened some, and after a moment's consideration, he walked back toward her and sat down beside her on the settee. She was still watching him, questioning, needing an answer, some kind of reassurance, needing to know she wasn't completely fucked up, not like him. But she was. And winning the Hunger Games only solidified that.

When Peeta placed a hand on her knee, she didn't pull away.

"Nothing. Absolutely nothing's wrong with you, Katniss."

Her lips twitched just barely; there was no relief in her eyes. Just resignation. Acceptance, maybe. She stared down at his hand and brushed her pinky finger against his. An intentional touch. Was it for her? Or for him? Did she accept him? He didn't move, not even realizing his breath had stalled in his chest while he waited, and waited. She covered his hand with her own then, curling her fingers around his, and she squeezed tightly, almost painfully. He didn't mind. They sat in silence after that point, hand in hand, as the train barreled onward, bringing them closer to home.

She didn't let go of his hand.

* * *

_Thanks again! I'm on tumblr as **fuckingplebe** if you want to play._


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